


Tired

by Buttercup_ghost



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Depression, F/M, I hate myself I hate myself!!!!!!!, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Oh venting bullshit!! Again!!, Suicidal Thoughts, feeling god awful in this chilis tonight!!!!!!!!, vent - Freeform, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 11:10:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14471403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buttercup_ghost/pseuds/Buttercup_ghost
Summary: "I'm tired, ladybug," he says, something desperate in his tone, "I'mtired.""Have you tried.." she's hesitant, thrown off by his behavior, no my ladies or puns today, "taking a rest day?"He wants to cry. He wants to scream. He feels like he's being strangled.She doesn't understand.__(Or; six times Adrien said he was tired and the one time he didn't.)





	Tired

I.

Adrien sighed, flopping into bed. He wasn't sure why he was so out of it, but at the same time, it wasn't an unfamiliar feeling. It used a anxiousness in his bones, restless and bored, itching to get out of the house and _do stuff,_ away from the oppressive feelings that dwelled in his big, empty house. But now, it was wariness. He wouldn't trade being chat noir for anything, the freedom it allowed him, to get out of the house and _escape,_ to not feel so confined, trapped. But it had also come with long nights, even more responsibilities and soon, acting. Even though he was more comfortable and carefree as chat, that was all he could be. He couldn't be under the weather when his lady was counting on him. He couldn't fail her.

It was exhausting.

He felt bad for thinking it, because his lady _shouldn't_ tire him, he _loved_ her. He loved spending time with her, fighting and battling and cracking jokes.

But he was tired.

It was too much, too overwhelming. Not only was he chat noir, but he was _Adrien agreste_ too. And that was even worse, really, because Adrien agreste was expected to be perfect, the poster boy, the good boy, the golden boy. Never flirt or joke or let off steam, certainly not broad. Just smile. For the picture, for the camera, for the millions of people who don't know a damned thing about you, but will hunt you down in mobs screaming that they love you. Pretty. Perfect. _Perfect_.

Ha. As if.

"Adrien," he sighed, as Nathalie called him over, "you have another modeling section this afternoon."

He grimaced, about to nod, before a sigh torn through him. Nathalie cocked an eyebrow. He smiled weakly, "I'm tired."

"Well," she bites her lip, a bit, before schooling her features, "it's a very important shoot, to your father."

He feels the need to laugh, bitter.

"Yeah," he says instead, "of course."

 

II.

"Chloe, do you really think this is necessary?"

"Of course it is, adrikins!"

Adrien sighed. He didn't want to upset his friend, but right now he just wasn't up for it, for anything really. Especially not her constant fawning. 

He loved her, really, but dealing with constant, sickeningly sweet affections made him sick. It felt _fake_ , something like shallowness tinting it. Some days, it was just too much, and he'd wish it went back to how it was when they were kids. A gentler Chloe, if just a bit, quiet moments and hot cocoa shared between them, a mutual understanding. It seems that recently, he didn't understand anything. 

"What's wrong, adrikins? Do you really not want to go out shopping with me?" She softens, a bit, almost appearing like a child. He smiles weakly, knowing that he didn't need any fronts with her, but not wanting to worry her.

"I'm just tired."

She frowns, "Do you want to stay in instead?" 

"No, no," he shakes his head, "it's not that kind of tired."

"Hm," she pauses, trying to decide what response to say, "I don't really understand."

He smiles, "I know you don't, chlo."

She frowns, "I don't see why you're complaining, then. We've got shopping to do, adrikins!"

 

III.

"What's wrong?" 

Her voice was just like he remembered it, in his dreams, and he smiled, before it turned into a grimace. His dreams, dreams of her falling and him rushing to catch her, coming just short. He sighs, unable to look her in the eyes.

Instead, his eyes gaze downwards, towards the dazzling streets of Paris under them. If he fell from here, he'd surely die, wouldn't he? The edge so close to him, just lean out a bit more.. 

He jerked back. Not from surprise, but habit. The thoughts didn't shock him, didn't send fear in him. If anything, the fact he was so desensitized to them made him more afraid than anything else. Just passing, normal thoughts, only ever sending a current of exhaustion through him. If he was dead, he wouldn't feel so tired all the time, but even just thinking that makes him more wary. He wants someone to pull him up, help him. Or maybe he just wants someone to do all the work for him, or to put him out of his misery.

"I'm tired, ladybug," he says, something desperate in his tone, "I'm _tired_."

"Have you tried.." she's hesitant, thrown off by his behavior, no my ladies or puns today, "taking a rest day?"

He wants to cry. He wants to scream. He feels like he's being strangled.

She doesn't understand.

He smiles, more like a grimace, just a bit more off than his usual cocky grins, as chat, "I'll be sure to do that, my lady."

 

IV.

"I'm tired."

Plagg snorted, distracting him in his thoughts, "So am I. Where's my cheese?"

For a little while, he's too busy grimacing at plaggs cheese addiction to frown. 

Soon, though, his thoughts interrupt him. The joking between them ending, and he wonders if he should feel something in the silence. He doesn't.

He just feels _tired_.

 

V.

"Chat noir?" Her voice is fluttering, almost concerned sounding, her eyes wide and hands fidgeting. Ever since that day, when he showed her his surprise for ladybug, melancholy in his voice, slight bitterness from his ladies rejection, he had come to her. She was calming, a kind soul scathing him with just her presence. He couldn't help the smile he gave her, his heart feeling just a bit lighter. A different feeling than when he was with his lady, his feelings so overwhelming and crushing, making it difficult to breathe. A love that consumed, a feeling he throw himself into. So pressingly _there_ he wanted to cry. This, this feeling with marionette, it was gentler, like a warm embrace instead of a vice grip that took hold of his entire being, entire life.

"Hey." He gave a little wave, stepping onto her balcony.

She looked at him funny, eyes critically analyzing him. He felt exposed, unprotected, _venerable_ , like he did as Adrien, but tried to shake off the feeling. 

"Are you ok?" He sighed. She saw right through him, like she always seemed to do when they were like this, together. So different from how she treated Adrien, her stiff attitude and nervousness towards him making him feel out of his depth, unconnected to her. Here, like this, he could say they almost understood each other, her seeing past him, seeing through him, as if he was transparent instead of the plastic doll he was, just a thing for people to pose around, fake. Like he was glass, so easily broken, already cracking, and she wanted to hold his shards and edges gently in her hands.

"I..." he didn't know what to say, didn't know how to tell her, how to phrase it anyway except _tired_. He pursed his lips. "No, I don't think I am."

She reached out, but he flinched from her hands instinctively, backing up. "Chat.." she started, "chat, what's wrong? What happened?"

And he could almost laugh at that. Everything's wrong. Nothing is wrong. Nothing has _changed,_ not really _,_ so he shouldn't be like this, he should be used to it. But maybe the unchanging stagnant _is_ what's wrong. He doesn't know why he's getting worse. Oh god, he's getting _worse_.

He feels tears coming, blurring his vision of his princess, starting to overflow. "I don't know," he's sobbing, now, the tears coming so fast, too fast, he can't cover them, hold them in. He started to curl up, trying not to feel so pathetically _weak_. 

"I don't know _,_ " his voice is raw, confusion and frustration leaking into it. He didn't know why he was like this. Why was he like this? Why did he feel so _fucking broken_ all the time? His breathes are ragged, voice raising in pitch,"I don't know, I don't know, I _don't know."_

Marionette rushes to him, putting her arms around him, supporting him. Concern is in her face, and he hates it. He barks out a laugh, bitter, harsh, spiteful, all towards himself.

 _"_ I'm just _tired_."

He wants to die.

 

VI.

Chat noir, Adrien agreste, it didn't matter anymore. Both were tired.

He just wanted to rest.

He scribbles a note, at school, barely paying attention. He doesn't care if it gets him in trouble, it's not like he'd deal with the consequences.

He slips out of school, being stopped by Nino to talk some. He says something vaugly of concern, but he only processes half of it, shooting off a reassuring response from habit. He manages to walk to marionette, giving her the letter as casually as he can, ignoring any weird looks he gets. Marionette can hardly speak, a blush on her face as she stumbles over her words, and he only smiles warmly at her. 

"I have to get going," she's still stuttering, holding the letter in her hands, "I'm a bit tired, after all."

For a minute, he can see the glimmers of almost recognition, before it fades away.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I.

Marionette bursts into tears when she reads his letter, mouthing out the words from it, the last line a simple _I'm so tired._

His death is all over the media the next day.


End file.
